NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG

Top Ten Absurdist Reasons Why Nobody Cares About Your Blog
(or Mine)
(Which You are Currently Reading)
(So, That’s Kind of Absurd in and of Itself Right There)

by Joe Buonfiglio

Nobody cares about your blog … or mine. Unless you’re already a celebrity or at least celebrity adjacent, it’s absurd to continue to pound away on your wireless keyboard pretending that anyone other than close friends and family gives a shit about your most recent blog piece.

And BREAKING NEWS: They really don’t give a shit either. They just don’t want to hurt your feelings.

Even though it is SO painfully absurd to continue our vainglorious attempt to make a mark in the blogosphere, I’m okay with that because … well … I’M AN ABSURDIST!

I actually revel in the chaotically futile. Mindlessly blogging is simply a natural extension of all that. So with a loose hold on anything resembling reality, here are my…

Top Ten ABSURDIST Reasons Why Nobody Cares About Your Blog (or Mine)

#10: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE pepper-spraying camels is not an indication of evolutionary superiority.

#9: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE melted cheddar has not and will never cure male-pattern baldness.

#8: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE even though Ford’s Model T did come in red, the color black was preferred by viper trainers throughout Canada.

#7: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE Ponce de León couldn’t find Mrs. de León’s G-spot if his life depended on it.

#6: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE free trade shouldn’t be a matter of cucumber girth.

#5: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE the literary arts no longer take into account that pillaging is a forgotten craft.

#4: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE the Center for Disease Control is completely ambivalent in all matters concerning buttered-popcorn flavored jellybeans.

#3: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE the zipper is down on society’s collective pants.

#2: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG, BECAUSE springtime Frappuccinos should flow freely from a Panda’s ass, not be imprisoned until transactional payment is rendered unto the Starbucks Corporation. (refer to Starbucks vs. a Panda’s Ass, Third Circuit Court of Appeals circa 1864 following Brown vs. the Zookeeper’s Fantasy)

AND THE #1 REASON NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BLOG: The ghost of Richard Nixon tickles President Trump’s balls from the moment he falls asleep in the Lincoln bedroom!

So blog away, my fellow Absurdists; blog away as if no one is watching … because no one is.

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All photos are © 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.

“Stream” of Consciousness?

More like a Tidal Wave of Absurdity!

by
Joe Buonfiglio

So, I had this notion to write a “stream of consciousness” piece a la Jack Kerouac with On the Road, but in microcosm. The problem, of course, is that I’m a self-branded “Literary Absurdist.” Everything I craft tends to devolve into an unreasonably foolish manifesto; my attempts at stream-of-consciousness writing doomed to become a tidal wave of absurdity destined to walk with the ghosts of Kierkegaard and Camus.

Nevertheless, I feel the bold experiment is worthy of the attempt. Thus, I will now write down in the realm of the blogosphere my thoughts as they pop into my head without governor or censor.

Enjoy.

Why are Monkey Puzzle trees an accepted form of vegetation, but I tell people I drive a classic Barracuda and all of a sudden I’M the weirdo?

“Plucky” rhyming with “sucky” is just a coincidence? I don’t think so!

A candlelight dinner is romantic, but I burn down my employer’s place of business and suddenly I’m an “arsonist.”

Bite the ears off a chocolate bunny and you’re the life of the Easter-egg-hunt party. Bite the ears off a real bunny at the same party and you get 3-10 months in the county lockup for animal cruelty and child-endangerment through “traumatization.” WTF?

There cannot be a God, because if there was a God, you could eat all the meat-lover’s pizza you want without getting fat or gastroesophageal reflux disease complicated by bouts of uncontrollable flatulence…. … … I’m just sayin’.

Thinking about how many people are using toilets on a global scale at any given moment scares the shit out of me… … … which is more than a little ironic.

Why isn’t the male urinary tract a place to plant and grow penises?

Wait. Singularity is a state of space-time and not the condition of being perpetually unmarried?

Ponce de Leon searched for the Fountain of Youth, but you catch me naked searching for loose change in your couch at three in the morning and that somehow makes me the bad guy.

Why tell people they can do “whatever floats your boat” if they are not nautically inclined?

Do owls know they are annoying?

Is reality a thing you win in the lottery?

Does whipped cream ever cry out in pain?

Does this look infected?

Just who the hell was the first one to consider pairing piss with vinegar, and did he or she prepare the takeout salad I’m eating right now?

Why isn’t “teaching the world to sing” the highest-salaried profession ever?

Shouldn’t God offer a lifetime warranty?  No!  Wait! An ETERNAL warranty!

Holy shit! Birds really do appear every time you are near!  Stop that.

Why don’t meter maids clean your car?

If I keep digging in my backyard — I mean REALLY keep digging down deep — will I eventually find my dignity?

Fuck salamanders with the knowledge to cure all human illnesses!  Am I right?

Clowns aren’t creepy … unless you find one in bed with your mom … after hours … in the middle of a department store … reenacting Lord of the Flies.

Mailboxes; what are they up to?

Son of a bitch, mom was right! If you do THAT you really will go blind! … … … Wait. No. The lightbulb just burned out. My bad.

Turns out I really am the only one who can prevent forest fires. And I’m sorry Sierra National Forest burned to the ground, but back off; as you can imagine, my hands are pretty full right now.

And finally, it all comes down to this: The only people who wholly understand the true nature of the universe are those who wash their clothes in a pay-launderette at three in the morning. Who knew enlightenment cost exactly $9.75.

Roll on, Cosmic Black Wave. Roll on.

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

JOE’S BAR (blog)

by Joe Buonfiglio

My Potpourri of the Damned blog started off as a simple idea. It was to be a weird forum for releasing upon an unsuspecting world the Absurdist tidbits of darkly humorous mayhem theretofore buried in the deeper recesses of my warped little brain; somewhere between a lark and a malady.

AND THEN ALONG COMES DONALD TRUMP.

This con-man simpleton overtakes my soul generating a combination of bemusement, fear and intense anger driven to the point of seditious hatred. Watching this orange-tinged putz and his idiot-convention entourage systematically clog America’s collective toilet by shoving all that’s good about this country down it with the plunger of his narcissistic Trumpian ego sends my fingers tap-tap-tapping furiously upon my computer’s keyboard to the point of rendering the action on the typewriter-esque buttons nearly unresponsive.

TRANSLATION: Our dumbass POTUS makes me more than a little crazy.

Next thing I know, I’ve endangered the absurdist-humor brand of my Potpourri of the Damned blog with numerous anti-45 rants.

In my last blog-post, I teased that this — my JoeBuonfiglio.com (AKA LiteraryAbsurdist.com) site — would be evolving into “Something absurdly wonderful. Something wonderfully absurd,” and Potpourri of the Damned will MOST DEFINITELY be a part of that. However, if my head is not to blow clean off my shoulders in a blood-pressure rush that could launch a ballistic missile armed with the most nuclear of warheads, I will still need to find a home, some suitable outlet, for all my anti-Trump, anti-societal-injustice, anti-anything-that-really-pisses-me-off-to-the-point-of-vigilantism rants. And so, welcome to…

When introduced into the new website coming within the next month or two, Joe’s Bar Blog will be the new home for me to … well … get things off my chest.

Joe’s Bar Blog will be written while I’m sitting at my bar (Yes, at the time of this writing, I own a bar.), and will feature whatever beverage I am imbibing at the time of the given literary endeavor.  For example, at this moment, I am sipping upon the cool libation that is a 12-year-old special reserve Jameson Irish whiskey on the rocks. Additionally, while Potpourri of the Damned comes out (for the most part) every Wednesday, Joe’s Bar Blog is written “as the spirit … and spirits … move me.” This creative process will most likely lead to such commentary as:

Hey, Alt-Right. Looks like your boy Trump is kicking you and Bannon to the back of the bus.

How’s it feel?

Ironic?

And…

You can’t even organize an Easter egg event? How the hell are you going to organize foreign policy … or a war?

And…

What are Trump’s plans for America? Follow the money. Slash the State Department’s budget; raise the military’s by billions.

Any questions?

As well as…

Listening to Donald Trump speak, I now realize that George W. Bush was relatively an outright intellectual.

And…

It’s 12:24 a.m.

… and Trump just dropped in to see what condition my sedition was in.

Not to mention…

The Right is devolving into Theatre of the Absurd. They believe in the Rapture, so get on with it; God can have them all ASAP.

Or…

Donald Trump criticizing Chuck Todd’s appearance is like the Alien calling the Predator ugly.

And…

“Remnants of treasonous criminality” refers to:
A) Trump
B) His administration
C) Me on the toilet the morning after 20-alarm chili night

Or perhaps even…

AGENT: “You’re ruining your writer’s brand with all this Trump shit!”

PEER: “Wait. You have an agent?”

WIFE: “Wait. You’re a writer?”

So keep your eye out for Joe’s Bar Blog in the new JoeBuonfiglio.com that is on its way to this space. As Potpourri of the Damned again reverts back to content designed to engulf your grey cells in that which is madly absurd, Joe’s Bar Blog will delve into that which will make you absurdly mad.

What’s your pleasure?

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

All photos, art and logos are © 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio with All Rights Reserved.

SOMETHING (DELIGHTFULLY STRANGE) THIS WAY COMES….

SOMETHING ABSURDLY WONDERFUL.

SOMETHING WONDERFULLY ABSURD.

 

In the coming months, JoeBuonfiglio.com (AKA LiteraryAbsurdist.com) will undergo an absurdly wonderful and wonderfully absurd transformation.  Keep checking back to get in on all the preposterous amusement … and probably more than a little bemusement.

PLEASE STAND BY….

— Joe Buonfiglio

In Support of the MARCH FOR SCIENCE

by Joe Buonfiglio

I’m going to be taking a couple weeks off from my absurdist blog, Potpourri of the Damned, to work on my post-Apocalyptic absurdist book (in which I am woefully behind at the moment). However, as I go on my blog-posting hiatus in order to dive into this literary endeavor, I’d like to leave you with this thought:

After reading an Associated Press report that the Arctic sea ice has hit a record low for winter (http://www.apnewsarchive.com/2017/Even-during-winter-Arctic-sets-a-record-for-low-sea-ice-level/id-4b7f43b7a1624db8b13738c8b3d5383b), I want to continue enthusiastically rallying support for the April 22 Earth DayMarch for Science 2017.” In a nutshell, Global Climate Change science deniers such as Donald Trump and his ilk must be stopped before they send humanity beyond the point of no return.

Here are some links where you can learn more:

https://www.marchforscience.com/ to find a march in your local area and sign up for updates.

Go to Twitter, Facebook, and Google+ with the hashtag #marchforscience.

Follow great advocates of science such as astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson on Twitter at @neiltyson and Bill Nye “the science guy” on Twitter at @BillNye.

As for me, I’ll be looking for a march in my local area, as well as getting the word out via various creative projects. For example, I’m a lyricist for a wonderful UK band called Unintentional Martyrs™ featuring musician, composer and performer, Paul Austin Kelly. Here’s the group’s song Science Denier now posted on my YouTube channel:

So join the pro-science movement; let Trump and all the science deniers out there know that science is NOT just some political pawn the denial of which to be used to pander to an ignorant base. This is critically important work on which the survival of the human race itself is dependent.

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.
All music and music videos © 2016-2017 Unintentional Martyrs™ with All Rights Reserved.

Tryin’ to Catch Me Dietin’ Dirty

(with apologies to Chamillionaire)

by Joe Buonfiglio

The blue-and-red rollers in my rearview mirror left me with no doubt; the PoPo were trying to catch me dietin’ dirty.

COP: “License and registration.”

FAT JOE (Uh, that’s “ME.”): “Sure, officer. Did I do something wrong?”

COP: “License and registration.”

I tentatively hand the deeply tinted-bespectacled representative of North Carolinian law enforcement the requested documents. This was no American version of the serious, yet genteel French gendarme. This bear of a man would just as soon see me dare to resist his Carolina mountain-bred charms unto the inevitable hellish consequence.

ME: “Yes, officer. Here you go, sir.”

He viewed the state-issued papers for so long, it seemed as if time was being rendered a mere illusion.

ME: “Is there something wrong officer?”

He peered into my car, grimaced, and then handed me my vehicular-oriented documents.

COP: “Step out of the car.”

ME: “What? Why?”

COP: “Step out of the car, sir. NOW!”

Was it that cold? Why could I not stop shivering as I complied with his much-more-than-a request.

COP: “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

ME: “Was I speeding? I may have been a little, but it couldn’t have been more than 5 miles per hour over the limit. Isn’t there like some kind of grace zone of at least 5 miles an—”

COP: “Do you know you damn near killed a family of five back there?”

ME: “What?! How?”

COP: “Stay there.”

The police officer walked back to his car and removed four bloodstained family-sized bags of cool ranch Doritos from its backseat.

COP: “These flew out of your rear window a few miles back.”

ME: “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’m usually much more careful not to litter. If there is any associated fine, I will of course be happy to—”

COP: “They flew into the windshield of the minivan behind you.”

ME: “There was a minivan behind me? I had no idea there—”

COP: “Which completely obscured the driver’s vision.”

ME: “Oh boy. Look, I am so sor—”

COP: “The car full of kids went careening off the road.”

ME: “That’s terrible! Is everybody all ri—”

COP: “Breaking through the guardrail and plummeting down the mountainside.”

ME: “Well that’s not— That’s not good.”

The cop leaned in and looked into my car. It revealed itself to be a massive trash pile of chips’ bags, candy wrappers, empty soda cans, ice cream sticks and various forms of fast-food residue and leftover dietary carnage.

ME: “I get hungry.”

The cop scowled.

ME: “I’m on a REALLY strict diet and I just, well, snapped.”

The cop’s eyebrows bent downward in anger to the point that it looked as if they’d pop his nose right off his face.

ME: “You know how it is when you’re on a long road-trip. It doesn’t matter how good you’ve been on your diet; it becomes snacking warfare. All bets are off. It’s permission to chow down nonstop, because around each turn is a burger haven of comestible delight. Each gas stop offers up sweet—”

I’m not sure if it was an actual nightstick he slapped me with or just a heavy-duty flashlight. Regardless, I woke up with my car probably somewhere in Georgia on a used car lot with its VIN number filed off and me in a dank cell with no hope of ever even seeing a bail bondsman, let alone the light of day.

They had caught me dietin’ dirty and my penance was to become the cellmate of a somewhat aggressively flirtatious mountain of a drunk named “Homer.” With absolute certainty, I will not enjoy the odyssey on which he now wants to take me.

In retrospect, perhaps using my one phone call to order pizza delivery was not a smart move.

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio   All Rights Reserved.

A Day Without Absurdist Humor

One Man’s (Lame?) Attempt to Support Women
YOU GO, SISTERS!

by Joe Buonfiglio

At the time of this writing, it is International Women’s Day 2017. And in recognition of the coinciding strikes, walkouts, closings and Anti-Trump demonstrations labelled “A Day Without a Woman,” in solidarity with the sisters-in-womanhood protests here in America, I will be shutting down my Absurdist-humor literary efforts normally scheduled for release on Wednesdays. Thus, there will be no Potpourri of the Damned blog-post being released today or this week in an effort to show my support.

You know.

Other than this Potpourri of the Damned blog-post announcing that there will be no Potpourri of the Damned blog-post being … well … posted.

Wait.

Did I just inadvertently release an Absurdist-humor blog-post by announcing I would not be releasing an Absurdist-humor blog-post?

Damn.

Anyway, no more writing today.

Now, am I truly being socially conscious or just a lazy sack of shit? I guess that depends on which “fact vs. alternative fact” side of the political spectrum you call home. Either way, you go, sisters! Give ’em hell!

 

© 2017 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.